A Pyromaniac's Christmas
by Lucas Logan
Summary: I dont want to give too much away in the description. The title may say too much as it is. Please R,R and above all - Enjoy! (Now Complete)
1. Default Chapter

A soft and gentle snow was falling on Bayville.

The tree in the center of town was strung with tiny white lights that were glowing softly against the dark backdrop of the night.

Couples were walking hand in hand while last minute shoppers with their arms full of packages hustled from store to store but still managed to take the time to smile at strangers and exchange kind words with friends.

Officer Michael Stanton slipped out of his nice warm patrol car in to the cold night air. His breath hung for a long moment in the air before slowly dissipating and his cheeks stung until the numbing cold set in as he quickly crossed the parking lot in to the little all night coffee shop.

"Hey Mike." The man behind the counter smiled.

"Burrr!" Mike stood for a moment and shivered visibly, letting the heat of the small shop sink in. It was a festively decorated little place. Christmas carols were playing softly in the back room – just loud enough to listen to in the quiet little storefront.

"I heard that." The friendly man replied. "We just got in a new blend. Hawaiian Hazelnut. Care to give it a try?"

Mike thought for a moment. "Sure." He said finally. "Sounds good Dave. Kind of exotic."

His friend smiled and turned over a cup from behind the counter. "You think you're cold?" The man laughed. "Take a look across the street at Wimples Department Store."

Mike turned and looked. A young blonde boy was standing in the alcove of the store trying to stay out of the wind.

The coffee slowly filled the cup and the aroma turned Mike away from the window. "How long has he been there?" Mike asked.

"Over an hour now. Must be waiting on someone." Dave shrugged and set the cup down in front of Mike's favorite stool. "And freezing his bits off if you know what I mean. He's wearing a windbreaker for cripes sake."

Mike looked back and sure enough Dave was right. The boy had a scarf on too, but no gloves and only the lightest of jackets and a threadbare pair of jeans.

"He lights a cigarette every few minutes to try and keep warm." Dave commented. "I've been hoping he isn't homeless."

Mike took a deep breath and shivered. "Aww… Dave…" He looked back over his shoulder and sighed at the idea. "I'll check if he's still there when I leave. I can take him down to Father Flannagan if I have to. Get him fed and out of the cold…"

As he cast his glance back he saw that the boy had lit another cigarette and was shuffling in place for the warmth.

Dave smiled. "I'll pour you a cup to take over to him when you go." He shrugged. "It's just going to waste anyway. None of your fellow officers want to get out of their cars to come in tonight. It's too cold."

Mike nodded. "It is at that." He lifted his coffee to his lips. It was heavenly. He took another sip and then a deep inhale of warm steam off the cup. "Can I get a cinnamon donut to go with this?"

The song changed in the background. 'Holly, Jolly Christmas' came on.

"Sure." Dave smiled.

Another squad car pulled up and two more officers rushed in out of the cold.

The boy took several rapid puffs off his cigarette and finished it as quickly as possible while crossing the street.

"Ah." Dave gave a head nod towards the boy in the street. "He must have gotten tired of waiting." He flipped over another cup and began to fill it, intending to just give it to the boy when he arrived.

But the boy didn't come in.

He stood outside the large glass door… and knocked.

"What the…?" All three officers turned and looked toward the boy standing out in the cold.

"_Did you know…"_ The boy spoke loudly so as to be heard through the door "_That 'democracy' is short for demonic aristocracy_?" He then broke in to a wide, self satisfied grin, grabbed the door by it's handles, braced his foot against the bottom and began beating his head against the glass as hard as he could.

The first hit cracked the glass and everyone inside the store jumped. "_The President drinks blood in black magic rituals!"_

The second hit left a bloody smear and made the glass crunch under the force. "_Time travelers run the banking community!"_

"Jees…" Mike jumped up and began to rush towards the door.

The third hit shattered the safety glass in to a million tiny shards and sent blood spraying down the boy's face as he burst out laughing. "_Death comes dressed like a ghost-dog, Baby_!" But the glass still didn't give way.

The other two cops rushed for the door but they all bottlenecked when they got there. The boy was holding the door closed as he howled the words: "_Will someone please **stop** those **train whistles**_!!"

They pushed in unison as the boy slammed his face over and over in to the glass, spraying blood, laughter and madness at them until he fell unconscious and they could force the door open.

His body slid away from the door leaving a bloody trail in the soft, white snow.

Mike grabbed his radio and called for a paramedic.

The two other officers grabbed the boy under his arms and dragged him inside. Then they hand cuffed him behind his back in case he woke back up.

"Dear God in Heaven." Dave was shaking from the spectacle. "W-What's … What's wrong with him?"

Mike looked back. "I don't know." He said slowly. "But the hospital's got a nice warm bed… I'm sure."

"One with thick leather straps I hope." One of the other officers added cautiously, eyeing the youth.

Dave took several deep breaths and then looked back at the door. "I better get some plywood out of the back… And call a repairman in the morning." He looked back down at the boy. "God… I hope he's okay."

The boy lay motionless and limp… listening intently, and pretending to be unconscious…

And for a long moment there was only one sound to be heard.

"… _Oh by golly have a holly, jolly Christmas, this year!"_


	2. A Pyromaniac's Christmas Chapter Two

The harsh antiseptic smell hung on everything. It was a nasty idea to him - that something could be so 'clean' that it stunk of chemicals – and that this was preferable to nature. Soot and ash were cleaner in his mind than this place ever could be. Unless, of course, he decided to 'clean it up' for them before he left.

He shivered at the idea that those same chemicals that hung so thick in the air as to sting his nose and eyes must also be coating his lungs and filtering in to his blood with every breath he took.

Hospitals disgusted him. They always had. It was no wonder to him that the only reason people ever really came here was because it was a slightly better alternative than death.

"Where…" The boy seemed to have awoken suddenly and he looked panicked. "Where am I?"

He struggled briefly and cast his eyes to the nurse who had just that moment entered the room.

"Whoa there. Calm down." She rushed to his bedside and pressed the call button by his bed.

"You're at St. Jermaines Hospital… In the Psychiatric ward." She replied.

His eyes went wide and he looked like a hurt, lost child. "But …why?" He asked as sincerely as possible. "Why am I here? Why does my face hurt?"

She let out a slow and sad exhale of breath. He seemed rational enough. "You came in unconscious earlier. The police said you were hurting yourself."

He looked away and seemed lost in thought. Then he turned his soulful eyes back to her. "I don't remember." He said plainly.

Her heart went out to him. "Well, you're fine now. You're tied down because we're worried, but no one's going to hurt you. We're holding you for a three-day observation period. Doctor Stevens is on duty tonight. He'll be here in a just a minute."

The boy swallowed. "Am I in trouble?"

She shook her head. "I don't think so." She said softly.

He relaxed back in to the bed and looked around the room. "My face…" He looked back at her. "And my head… they hurt."

She nodded. "I can get you something for the pain."

He seemed to shiver for a moment. "Just… Not a shot, okay? I hate needles."

She smiled. "Okay. No needles."

She crossed over to the cabinet in the corner and pulled out a bottle of Tylenol. "Any allergies?" She asked.

"Not that I know of."

She dropped the pills in to a paper cup and filled another with water. Then she used the cup to deliver them in to his mouth, keeping her fingers safely distant. A swallow of water later he smiled and she nodded.

"The Doctor should be coming. Ill see what's keeping him." She turned away.

"Thank you." He said softly. "And… Merry Christmas."

She turned back and smiled. "No problem." Then she dropped her eyes, but not her smile and continued out of the room.

He turned his attention out the window and put his mind to work adjusting his appearance.

_Keep the puppy dog eyes._ He told himself_. Look nervous. Maybe a lip quiver when they tell you what you did. Swallow hard when they tell you…_

By the time the doctor finally arrived, he was ready. And the performance was worthy of an Oscar – even if he did think so himself.

The doctor told him everything he expected to hear. It was okay that he didn't remember just yet. The mind blocks out traumatic experiences, they would talk more tomorrow. And if he got some sleep tonight – maybe he could sit in on a group therapy session tomorrow at noon – and that way he wouldn't have to spend Christmas Eve alone. Wouldn't that be nice?

He managed to keep a strait face the entire time the doctor was with him. Managed to seem concerned and lucid. Not at all like the type who would happily beat his own face to a bloody pulp for a chance to sneak in to a hospital. Not at all the type who would have a hidden agenda all his own.

Not at all the kind of person who could play a doctor, a nurse and a handful of cops so perfectly as to make them all do exactly what he wanted.

Oh no, not him.

Inside, where no one could see, he was raging in fits of maniacal laughter.

It was all he could do to keep it inside.

All he could do not to laugh in their faces and call them all fools or cowards.

It was a testament to his strength, his will and the genius of his plan that he didn't reach out with his mind and find the nearest flame.

That he didn't feed that flame with his insanity, draw it through the walls, floors or wherever he had to in order to bring it to him, bend it to his will, free himself and raze this building to the ground… Just to show them all that, straps or no straps, no one controlled his destiny but him, no matter how much he allowed them to believe that they did.

_Let them have tonight._ He told himself. _You know what you want and tomorrow… It will be yours – Even if you have to create a hell on earth to make it happen – it will be yours._

And he sighed, dejectedly, like a lost and helpless soul at the mercy of strangers in a world he didn't understand. He stifled the giggle that tried to raise itself at that thought and whined slightly instead - just for dramatic effect just in case anyone was listening or passing by.

"So far… So good." He told himself with a slight smile. And then, with no effort at all, he closed his eyes and drifted quietly and calmly off to a deep and restful sleep.


	3. A Pyromaniac's Christmas Chapter Three

The view from the hospital bed was nice enough. He spent the early morning hours just watching joggers run along the river and the occasional boat drifting lazily past.

It was Dr. Randolph who came to him that morning.

"Have you remembered anything about last night?" Said the kindly older man.

"Some." He supplied back. "I was outside Wimples, wasn't I?"

"Yes." The doctor nodded. "Is that relevant?"

The young blonde boy's face wrinkled in pain as he fought back the tears and nodded. "I can't believe I went there!" He sobbed. "I don't know what I was thinking!"

The older man put down his clipboard and took a seat on the edge of the boy's bed, blocking the view of the boy from the hall just in case anyone walked past. "Why son, what is it? What makes Wimples Store so important?"

The boy sobbed again. "When… When I was… five… My mother… She said… _Just wait here honey I'll be_…" He swallowed and looked away before spitting the words: "She never came back! She went to… Vegas and … Married a trucker…"

The doctor swallowed once and laid a hand on the boy's shoulder. "She just left you there?"

His face knotted and contorted in pain as he nodded again. "And… Yesterday… I was … Out, walking and… I just wanted someone to … talk to… I didn't want to be … alone for…" And he broke in to another sob and looked away.

The doctor squeezed his shoulder affectionately.

"But there was no one to talk to!" He shook all over. "All my friends… Gone to college and …" He sobbed again. "I'm … alone…" His voice dropped to a whisper. "…again."

A twinge of guilt passed through the boy's body when he looked over and saw that Dr. Randolph was crying. He hadn't meant to lay it on quite that thick.

"Do you know why you hurt yourself son, why you were shouting all those things?"

Again he nodded, less enthusiastically this time. "When she left, I kept inventing excuses…" He whispered. "Any reason why she… didn't come back… Anything to make me think… It wasn't my … my fault." He took a very deep breath. "And when I realized… that I was just … lying to myself… I …"

"You hurt yourself." The older man finished for him. "I see." He paused. "There's a group therapy session in just under a half hour." He smiled through the tears. "A lot of people there find it hard to be alone during the holidays. I'm sure that they'd understand if you felt like sharing, and if not, that's fine too because I'm sure they'd appreciate the company just as much."

"I'd like that." He said at last.

"Good." The doctor smiled and undid his leather straps. "If you behave yourself until then, you can come."

"I will."

The Doctor stood up slowly and left the room.

_Sucker!!!_ He thought.

A flicker of movement outside caught his attention. It was two children having a snowball fight. He watched them, quietly, smiling. And the time passed quickly.

His smile faded quickly however upon entering the group therapy session.

Most of the patients were heavily drugged. Many didn't seem to know where they were or why. Some of the more active ones were paranoid, jittery or in one case - ranting and raving uncontrollably.

Worse yet, they were almost all there and he didn't see what he was looking for…

And just when he was ready to give up and blow his top, it happened.

Dr. Randolph came in, his grandfatherly smile upon his face, pushing a wheelchair with a single, strait-jacketed patient. He slipped the chair and it's overly medicated occupant in to the circle and took an empty seat.

"Now, I know this might seem strange to some of our newer friends…" He began.

"Newer?" A dark eyed man replied thrusting a finger at John. "He's the only new person here. I know everyone here and I don't know him!"

"Easy Derek. I was just getting to that."

"Can… can I have a cigarette?" John asked slowly. "It helps… steady my nerves."

The doctor considered for a long moment. "Well, since it is Christmas Eve and all… I don't see the harm in sharing one…" And he drew out a cigarette and disposable lighter. "I'm trying to quit myself…"

"Can…" John reached slowly. "I just … I like the first puff…"

The doctor smiled. "Okay." And he handed him the lighter and cigarette.

"That! That's preferential treatment!" Derek wailed. "I want a drag!"

"You don't smoke Derek." The doctor told him.

"NEVER THE LESS!" Derek assured him.

The lighter was a light blue Bic. John held it up to the light to see how much fluid it had inside.

"Maybe…" John caught their attention. "Maybe we should all quit… Today. After all… Smoking is as dangerous as… Well… As fire itself." And he struck the lighter's wheel.

The flame leapt up and took the form of a dragon. He couldn't help himself, he burst out laughing maniacally. It felt good.

It felt honest.

The dragon turned towards the drapes and breathed fire at them. They were thin and linen. They caught immediately. And it was all he needed.

Many of the patients scattered. Many more just sat there mesmerized.

"DOCTOR!!! I'M HALLUCINATING AGAIN!!!" Derek screamed out, grabbing some of the less mobile patients and drawing them back away from the flames.

Orderlies scattered for fire extinguishers and the doctor gasped but remained rooted on the spot.

John closed his eyes for just a moment and focused his will upon the windows. He heard the flames hiss with rage and the glass explode outward. Then he made his move.

He drew the fire from the curtains out around him and made it form a snake that coiled around him and slithered in between anyone who approached him. He dove for the girl in the wheelchair and grabbed her up, hefted her over his shoulder and ran for the shattered windows.

"Wait!" The doctor yelled out. "I can help you!"

He cast a glance back. "No, you cant. I've been lying to you about almost everything." He paused in guilt at his admission. "But… thanks anyway." And he dove with his prize out the second story window and landed with a thud in the thick, wet snow below.

He scooped her up and then… He hesitated. With a flicker of his mind he extinguished the flames in the room. Then, he ran until his lungs hurt and his bare feet bled. But he had done it. They had gotten away.


	4. A Pyromanic's Christmas Chapter Four

She woke up slowly. She was lying on a hard wooden floor in a small walk-in closet. A few shirts were hung over her head. She was covered with a thin blanket and had a small throw pillow propped under her head.

She blinked several times and looked down. She was still in the gown and pants from the hospital but the strait-jacket was gone.

Slowly it came back to her: Pyro, the fire, the snow, their 'escape' from the institution….

She shook her head. It felt remarkably clear now that they weren't medicating her every two hours. She had no idea how long she had slept but her thinking was definitely returning to normal now.

_God help them!_ She shook with rage. _If my father thinks…_ But she couldn't imagine what Magneto could have been thinking.

She snatched down one of the tee shirts and pulled it on. She found a pair of oversized jeans under the throw pillow and pulled them on. _It's not even a bad fit_… She thought. _I must have lost weight in the hospital…_

Then, she tried to hex the door right off it's hinges.

But nothing happened.

_Damn… Head's not clear enough yet…_ Then she searched the closet for a weapon – but found nothing. So, instead, she did the next best thing.

Wanda burst out of the little closet, her eyes wild with mistrust and suspicion, her fists clutched in to tight balls ready to strike. "What am I doing here?!?" She demanded.

Pyro was just standing there, smiling, and staring out the corner of a window. He too was in street clothes instead of his uniform. He jumped slightly when she stormed in but he didn't really move.

"Well…" He rubbed the back of his neck and looked down for a moment. "It's just that…"

She studied him. He looked uncomfortable with the question and he had very obviously been beaten recently. But… in all honesty she had to admit, he looked … well … happy. And not at all threatening, menacing or suspicious. She glanced around and recognized the place. It was an old safe-house that Magneto had abandoned long ago although she had never seen it this clean before.

"Everyone else you see…" He stammered.

She cast her eyes around the tiny room. He had obviously taken great care in decorating it. Christmas lights lined the room at the ceiling, twinkling slowly and casting odd shadows as they did. A small wreath hung over the window, concealing most of the view. Two stockings were stuffed with an assortment of things and hung from the windowsill. A small tree sat on the table, dotted with tiny round bulbs of every color and miniature firey-red strands of tinsel. The base of the table was surrounded by brightly wrapped presents – Some of which had her name on the tags. The one she could obviously read from where she stood claimed to be from Santa. A small battered radio was tuned to a local channel playing Christmas carols so softly she could barely hear them.

"They had, you know … Other things and …Someplace to… ummmm…" He shrugged, avoiding her eyes.

A coffeepot behind him was steaming quietly and she could smell the thick odor of hot chocolate in the air. A bag of mini-marshmallows sat next to it with a few unused coffee mugs. Just to one side of the coffeepot was a hot plate that was warming what looked like four TV dinners still under their foil covers.

"And I just thought that … you know … maybe… Since you weren't really busy…" His eyes were darting from the gifts to the food and she relaxed her stance as the truth became crystal clear to her.

He was lonely.

"I don't really… celebrate … Christmas…" She said slowly looking around and feeling a bit overwhelmed.

"Oh, no… Me neither… that is …" He swallowed and looked almost sad. "I mean… I don't really believe in the Israelite or anything but…"

"But…" She interrupted. "It is a… Ummm… nice… The time of year I mean… Everyone seems to… umm…"

"Exactly!" He finally met her eyes and looked somehow relieved. "Everyone's just a little more … " He searched for the word but it didn't come.

"Yeah." She said softly. "I know."

And his eyes lit up like a child's as the idea occurred to him. He dove past her and grabbed a small package from near the table. "I saw this and just thought…" He smiled a bit. "I thought you'd like it." He said plainly.

Slowly she lowered herself down on to the couch and with shaking hands she reached out and took the gift. It was wrapped in green paper and tied with a gold reflective ribbon.

"I…" But she didn't know what to say.

"Open it." He whispered imploringly, as though he might burst if she didn't.

She caught herself sniffling from the emotion of surprise and she tore the paper open to reveal the box. It was a fancy gift box and she lifted the lid off with great care.

Inside was a gothic leather choker, trimmed in lines of chain-mail. "Oh, wow." She breathed lifting it from the box. No one had ever gotten her such an accurate gift. If she had the chance – she would have bought it for herself. She hugged it to her chest without thinking.

"I…" She looked at him again, this time, like someone she had never seen before. "Thank you." She breathed. "I wish I could have…" She cast her eyes over to the pile of gifts and was stunned to see that – he had addressed some of the gifts to himself – and signed her name to the tag.

Fighting the desire to point out how psycho that was, she instead reached over slowly and took one of them from the pile and handed it to him.

"Merry Christmas John." She said softly.

"I wonder what it is." He held the box to his ear and shook it like a little kid. She laughed without thinking.

"No, really." He smiled. "I had to beat myself in the head to get committed. A lot of things are a little fuzzy right now." He explained.

And after a slight hesitation they laughed at that together while he happily tore open his gift.

-Fini.-

Authors Note: This story is (obviously) set before Wanda's 'conversion' to Magneto's side.


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